


isn't it lovely (welcome home)

by montivagantly_writing



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Just inspired, Sad Ending, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Sort of a songfic but not really, Suicidal Reader, but it's okay I promise, depressed reader, mentions of suicidal ideation, super short, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-12-01 22:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20923973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/montivagantly_writing/pseuds/montivagantly_writing
Summary: You stand clear of the railing, the openness beckoning. The music seems to have become the world around you for a moment, and you smile. A small, sad smile. And you let go.Or maybe you only think you do, because in a snap you stand, once again planted on the lip of the bridge.“Falling’s my job, love.” A voice says from behind you.or, i spent my last class listening to the one (1) song that isn't blocked by the school wifi and wrote this instead of working. enjoy. (please)





	isn't it lovely (welcome home)

**Author's Note:**

> hey hi so i love doing my work and being a productive student and not writing fanfiction when i have a book to be annotating haha don't you love that.  
((i listened to lovely by billie eilish for the entirety of my writing this, so i guess you can too?))

The music thrums in your ears, swirling around you with the buffeting winds. You close your eyes, allowing it to consume you. To envelop your nerves and carry you, a distant cloud wrapped around your already distant body. You cast your gaze out over the water and the city that stretches beyond it. The glimmering lights cut the black with cold starkness, an arterial spray of occupation. They reflect in the rippling water, wavering with indecision when confronted with the void of the river. You stand firm, legs steady, feet planted firmly on the lip of the bridge. You stand clear of the railing, the openness beckoning. The music seems to have become the world around you for a moment, and you smile. A small, sad smile. And you let go.

Or maybe you only think you do, because in a snap you stand, once again planted on the lip of the bridge.

“Falling’s my job, love.” A voice says from behind you.

You stiffen, shut your eyes. Screw them shut as frustrated tears sting their way through your lashes. But the presence behind you compels you to turn, if only to see one last human face before eternity.

A man stands before you, robed in tight black, a near-indistinguishable shadow against the dark. He tilts his head when you turn, and a faint shimmer of moon peeks through a break in the clouds. It glints off his dark glasses, illuminated the wild red of his hair.

You don’t respond, only stare him down as the wind brings the tears from your eyes. You gaze at him impassively, face blank and unmoving.

He simply looks back at you, face equally still. He raises an eyebrow at your silence. “What,” he says. “No response? Nothing?” He frowns at your continued lack of answer. He seems to search you for a moment, mirrored eyes seeming to pulse around you with the music.

The music, you only now realize, stopped when you thought you jumped, and hasn’t restarted. You look down at the phone in your hand. Its screen still displays the song, but now has a jagged line of glitch across it, obscuring the play button. You look back up at the man in front of her, and take a deep breath, releasing it with a shaky exhale. “What?” you ask, and it is hardly more than another sigh.

He hears it somehow, and a dry smile pulls up the corner of his mouth. “You have no business to be taking that kind of plunge,” he says, and his tone is casual. He gestures to the empty space behind you. “Those sorts of drops aren’t meant for humans.” He takes a step forward, and a shaft of moonlight ignites him once again.

You huff humorlessly, the shake of your head no more than a twitch. “And what are you, then?” you ask lowly, dropping your gaze. “Some sort of... self-appointed guardian angel?”

He laughs, but it is neither loud nor cruel. He shakes his head and moves closer still. “You’re halfway there, darling,” he says, and his voice is more gentle than the wry expression that moves his face. And he lowers his glasses with one pale finger.

You don’t gasp, don’t scream. You’re too apathetic by now for anything like that. But you do flinch, eyes widening, mouth parting.

The serpentine amber of his eyes glows from the negative space his form has shaped. The clouds move again to cover the moon in the same instance. The light of his eyes isn’t extinguished, rather, it gleams brighter in the dark that swallows him.

You spare a quick glance back over your shoulder, trying to assure yourself that you haven’t already plunged into the shrouding water beneath you.

The being in front of you hisses, a small, shocked noise of surprise and displeasure, and moves.

In the next breath, the creature is directly before you. You try to jerk backward, but are held tight by his hands around your arms. He doesn’t budge, and you are forced to meet his gaze. The fight bleeds out of you as the glow of his eyes recaptures you.

He has fully removed those dark spectacles, and you are graced with the full flaming gold of him, the fiery depths split by two sharp pupils narrowing into needle-slit focus. His hair is a wild flare of crimson, untamed curls spilling down from their carefully kept quiff.

You are immobile beneath his gaze, trapped under the most caring and terrible eyes you have ever seen.

“No,” he says. “I won’t let you.”

It is then that you realize what has encased you both in the darkness that has allowed his eyes to shine just so. Feathers. You are shrouded in coal-black feathers. You meet his burning eyes once again.

_“And what are you, then? Some sort of self-appointed guardian angel?”_

_“You’re halfway there, darling.”_

They dance over your face, their light turning the tear tracks on your cheeks into searing paths of gold. His hands burn where they rest on you, as if a molten fire swirls beneath them.

He smiles. A small, sad smile.

And you fall into him.


End file.
